by Lauren Smith
Ashton’s eyes, usually such a bright blue, had darkened now to a rich Prussian blue and threatened to ensnare her. For a moment she couldn’t think, couldn’t see anything outside those eyes.
“Go on, make your move.” His gaze was burning straight through her as she realized what her final move had to be.
She reached out and set her king next to his white bishop. She couldn’t take it, but she could use it defensively from this position. Blood began to pound in her ears, and her heart beat hard and fast against her ribs.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he met her panicked gaze squarely.
“I want you to remember this moment, Rosalind. The moment I won you.” His pawn captured her knight, which opened up the rook behind it, placing her under threat from all sides.
“Checkmate.”
The pieces on the board blurred. A thousand protests perched on the tip of her tongue, scrambling to get free. He had won. Fairly. There was no way she could protest. They’d set out the terms, and she had agreed. It was a matter of honor.
“You have won,” she echoed. “How? I thought chess wasn’t your game!”
“I’m sure I pale in comparison to the masters, but I do play quite well, especially when motivated.” He leaned back in his chair, a smirk on his full lips.
She got to her feet, her anger returning, momentarily burying the shock of losing. “You cheated?”
His eyes narrowed. “In what way did I cheat? We played a well-matched, fair game. Given the stakes, it was only fair. Now stop playing the damsel in distress, Rosalind. We both know you’re above such nonsense.”
Damsel in distress? Oh, she was going to strangle him, all right.
“And you also owe me one last bit of clothing.”
“But—”
“The rules must be honored. Wouldn’t you agree?” Ashton’s smug grin made her want to slap him. Hard.
“Damn you,” she growled. New anger sparked to life inside her. He may have won, but that did not mean she had to be complacent about it.
“I’m not above tying you down to get what is owed me.”
“Tie me down?” she hissed. “I’d like to see you try, you—”
Ashton pounced, catching her wrists and pulling her toward him. He made a soft tsking noise as he tugged her to the bed and shoved her down upon the soft coverlet.
“Let me go!” Rosalind clawed at the bedding to get free, but he kept her pinned while he leaned over her to the table beside the bed. She kicked out when she heard him opening a drawer.
“These should work.” He wound something silky around her wrists, then tightened it, trapping her hands together above her head. She tried to flip onto her back and pull her arms back down, but by the time she could try, she found her wrists bound with a white silk neckcloth. Ashton stood at the side of the bed, arms folded as he watched her.
“You can sit there and behave while we have a rational discussion, or I can tie you down completely.”
The silk was not tight, but it gave her no room to free her hands. Shooting daggers at him, she replied, “I shall sit here, but if you think I’ll consent to anything else—”
“Despite your impressions of me, I am not that much of a black-hearted bastard.”
“Oh yes, your actions here are those of a perfect saint!”
“Well, I never claimed that, either.” He chuckled and knelt by the bed and picked up one of her feet.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m removing your slippers, what is owed to me. Surely you don’t plan to go to sleep in them.” He gently slid her shoes off. The heat of his palms singed her skin through her thin stockings. It felt nice. She didn’t want it to feel nice. She wanted to hate him and hate how she desired him even while he infuriated her. He set her slippers on the floor and then rose up over her, his fingers toying with the loose ends of the white silk around her wrists.
“I usually don’t bother with things like this, but on you, I find bound wrists rather intoxicating. To know I’m finally your master, at least in bed.” His lips curled in a slow, delighted smile.
“We are in bed only in the most literal way. When I get free, I’m going to wring your bloody English neck.” She wanted to sound furious, but her blood was heating in a different way at the thought of him doing anything he wanted to her while she was bound. It sounded so wicked…and divine.
Blond hair fell into his eyes as he leaned close. “I adore your fire, my dear. I never want it to leave.” Ashton breathed slowly as he played with a loose lock of her hair.
Her eyes closed as she relished the sensual little caress. If only he hadn’t won the wager, then she could be free to say yes to him without this fear of the future.
“Aren’t you the least bit curious?” he asked.
“Curious?”
“About what it could be like between us.” He reached up and trailed his fingertips down her cheek, and then to her neck. The touch set fire to her blood. “Just once. Trust me to show you how good it could be. Forget the wager and think only about this.” He tilted her head back and leaned down to kiss her. The simple press of his lips sent her stomach into wild spirals. When he pulled back from her, she tried to keep kissing him, but he spoke against her searching lips.
“Let me take you to bed, Rosalind. Let me make love to you. I know such things that will make you weep with pleasure. I want to show you what you have to look forward to as my wife.”
Would it be so bad to say yes? She wanted to feel that fulfillment of what his hands and mouth had promised her so often.
“Say yes,” he urged, his voice rougher now.
She peeped up at him through her lashes. His fingers still touched her neck, the hold firm but gentle. His eyes were dark and hot, and power emanated from his body as he waited.
The silence between them was charged with unspoken challenges and seductive promises. Finally, she uttered the word that would change her life forever.
“Yes.”
The fire in his eyes intensified. He freed her hands of the silk and slid his hands up her calves and thighs as he rolled her stockings off one by one and let them fall to the floor. Her breasts felt full and aching, nipples rasping against the white cloth of her chemise. She waited for him to shove her onto her back and mount her, but he didn’t.
“Move back, darling.” While she did as he instructed, he stepped back and unfastened the front of his breeches but did not remove them.
“Now, lie back and part those pretty thighs for me.”
Her heart raced. Slowly, she lay back, parting her legs. He crawled up the bed and knelt between them. The muscles of his chest rippled as he moved, and she stared at the light dusting of pale-gold hair along his pectorals. She ran one palm along his chest, feeling the silkiness of the hair before she trailed her hand down his abdomen. His muscles twitched at her exploring touch. She scraped her nails lightly across him, eliciting a groan from him and delighting in the fact that she would mark him as hers.
And here she was, tempted to explore every inch of this body. He was beautiful, masculine. His skin soft, but his body hard all over. A small knotted scar on his shoulder caught her attention, the old bullet wound. She’d once teased him about it. As she leaned over, she pressed a kiss to the spot, wishing she could make the pain it still caused him vanish.
Ashton kissed her forehead, then her cheeks, then her mouth. The sweet slide of his tongue against the seam of her lips entreated them to open. The man knew just how to kiss, sweet and seductive one moment, dominating the next. It kept her guessing, kept her riding on an ever building wave of unexpected thrills.
When he sat back on his heels, she ached for his warm hard body to cover hers again. He slid her chemise up to her waist and then farther up until she had to lift up for him to slide it off her. She folded her arms over her chest, covering her bare breasts.
“Don’t lose that fire and bravery now,” he said.
Terrified yet excited,
she lowered her hands and lay back against the pillows.
“You are a goddess.” His reverent whisper stirred emotions inside her, ones that scared her, because they held hope for something she believed she couldn’t have.
“Does that make you a god as well?” she teased, smiling a little.
“In the presence of such beauty, I am a mere mortal.”
“And you wish to dominate me? Things never turn out well for mortals who compete with gods and goddesses.”
“Yet they continue to try, because the rewards are so tempting.”
He leaned over her again, kissing a sensual path down to her collarbone before nuzzling the swell of her breasts. He braced himself on one forearm and cupped one breast with his free hand as he explored their sensitive peaks.
He sucked one nipple between his lips and her hips jerked. It was so intimate, too much to bear. A frightening, exciting, unquenchable fire raged throughout her body.
She moaned his name and he growled in answer, the vibrations running along her skin and heightening every sensation even more.
“Please,” she panted. “I can’t stand it.”
He released her nipple long enough to chuckle before he teased and taunted her other breast with flicks of his tongue. She threaded her hands through his hair, tugging on the soft, silken strands.
“Harder!” he urged. “Tug harder.” And she did. The bite of pain was echoed when he nipped her breast. Sparks shot through her, straight to her womb.
Ashton kept moving down along her body, pressing kisses to her abdomen and hips, nibbling at her, making her laugh at the tickling sensations. It felt so good to laugh, to enjoy herself like this. But he didn’t stop. He placed his palms on her inner thighs and pushed them farther apart.
She wriggled to get free, startled by this turn of events. “What are you doing?”
“Ah no, my lovely Scottish hellion, I’m afraid this one pleasure you must endure.” He lifted his gaze to hers, and then he bent his head and licked her…down there.
If he hadn’t been holding her thighs down, she would have spasmed at this foreign pleasure. He kept licking, kissing, torturing her aching flesh. It was more than she could take. Just when she thought it would kill her, he lifted his head, and with a wicked grin, he sat up and tugged his breeches down enough to free himself. Then with one hand he guided himself into her. He was large and thick as he thrust in. Rosalind hissed at the tightness.
“Breathe, darling.”
She gritted her teeth. “I am.”
He laughed and then leaned over her, pressing her down into the bed as he captured her mouth. The kiss, added to the weight of his body on hers, made her relax. She felt safe. He was controlling the kiss, their bodies—he would not hurt her, and he would give her the satisfaction she craved. It was a promise he made with every press of his lips.
Ashton gripped her wrists and pinned them on either side of her head, his fingers curled around her arms, trapping them. She was truly owned by him now, and yet she knew if she asked him to stop, he would.
“How do you feel?” He rocked his hips, pushing in deeper.
Rosalind lifted her hips, then kissed him back before replying.
“Wonderful.” She blushed at the admission. “You?”
“You grip me like a fist.”
She was about to object, since he was the one gripping her wrists, until a tight thrust explained his meaning.
He circled his hips. “Are you ready?”
Ready? What did he mean?
Ashton withdrew and began to pump his hips hard, keeping her wrists pinned as he took her. She didn’t know that a man could move like that, that fast, that hard.
But Ashton seemed to be able to keep up this wild pace all night. She knew she wouldn’t survive that—it felt too good to hold on to her control. Not when her body demanded the release that was building inside her like a summer storm. The pressure in her lower belly mixed with the delicious heat of her arousal…she was so close…
“Hold on,” he growled.
She struggled against him, needing to find the right rhythm of friction, harder, faster. He somehow learned what she craved through whatever moans and cues she gave him and began to thrust into her even harder. Their bodies were slick with sweat. The sounds of their lovemaking were primal, animalistic. Simply thinking of that proved too much for Rosalind.
She careened off the ledge of sanity and fell into a realm of sheer bliss. Every muscle in her body went limp. An instant later Ashton shouted and collapsed on top of her. He buried his face into the pillow beside her, and his lips feathered a delicate kiss on her ear. That sent rippling aftershocks through her. Her inner muscles clenched around his shaft and he groaned.
“Bloody hell, woman. You are…” He didn’t finish, but his face turned to hers and she caught a glimpse of his roguish smile.
“I’m what?” she panted.
“Perfect.” The smile turned boyishly charming. It melted her in places she thought she’d never feel again. It was scary for her to realize she felt the same about him.
“How do I compare to the others?” he asked.
“The others?” She stared at him, confused.
He shifted his body, not fully rolling off her, but easing most of his weight to the side so as not to crush her.
“Yes, your other lovers.”
Other lovers? Had he not guessed she’d had no other lovers save her first husband?
That amused her for some reason. He believed she’d had paramours? It was a common assumption, she supposed, since a number of notable young widows had collected lovers by the dozens, but she hadn’t.
“There aren’t any. I have only ever been with Henry.” Despite his assumption, she was oddly shy in admitting that she hadn’t had more experience. Ashton’s brows rose.
“Well, I must admit, I like the idea of having you all to myself. I’m rather a selfish creature, you see.”
“Really? I had no idea.” She prodded his chest with a finger, making him laugh again. It was a rich, deep sound that made her think of melted honey.
Ashton moved off her, withdrawing from her body. The sense of emptiness that followed angered her just a little. She didn’t want to miss his warmth, the feel of him deep inside her. The feel of them connected.
He slipped out of bed completely bare and padded over to the fireplace, put a few more logs on the fire, then extinguished the candles by the bed and joined her under the covers. When he settled in, Rosalind cuddled up to him, placing a hand on his chest. He covered it with one of his, squeezing her fingers.
“I’ll leave for London first thing tomorrow. What do you say about a wedding in the little parish church a few miles away?”
Rosalind tensed. The wedding.
He tensed beside her. “You promised, remember? The terms—”
“Yes. Whatever you wish—I do not care.” She pulled away from him and rolled onto her side facing the opposite wall. “Why couldn’t you be satisfied with being just lovers?”
The bed dipped as he moved, but he didn’t try to touch her again. “I enjoy being complicated. Now I suppose you’ll be cross with me.”
“I’m not cross with you,” she snapped.
His chuckle made her bristle. “Goodnight, Rosalind.”
She didn’t respond except to reach behind her and sock him in the hip with a balled fist.
It was going to be a long night.
Chapter Sixteen
Ashton stood on the steps of the Sheridan townhouse on Curzon Street and tried to quell the sudden bout of nerves in his stomach. He’d risen well before dawn at his estate and slipped out of bed, pressing a light kiss to Rosalind’s lips before leaving. It had taken two hours of hard riding to reach London, and his horse was lathered and exhausted. But it was important that he arrive in time to catch Cedric before he left his house for the day. He and Anne were likely to be selecting new mares at Tattersall’s this afternoon.
For the mission he had this morning,
he only trusted Cedric. Today he was acquiring a special license to marry Rosalind. In the past, he’d always been the one to accompany the others to the Doctors’ Commons, but it was strange to think today was his turn.
He couldn’t ask Godric or Lucien. They had married for love alone and would challenge him for marrying Rosalind for mercenary reasons. He could, perhaps, admit that he was marrying her because he wanted to, because he found her fascinating and enticing. But to do so would only prompt further interrogation from his friends, and he didn’t wish to deal with that until he had time to fully understand his own feelings about her.
Cedric, however, would understand. He and Anne had married to save her from fortune hunters after her father had passed. They’d married as strangers but had found love along the way. Ashton hoped Cedric would understand where Ashton’s decision came from. Not everyone was lucky enough to fall in love.
His heart gave a strange little hop inside his chest.
I just want a small measure of happiness. Despite the pleasure he had given her, he was under no illusions about what Rosalind truly thought of him, and given his treatment of her in the past, he had no reason to assume that would change simply because of one night of passion. He would likely never have a great love like his friends, but he hoped Rosalind would someday learn to love him in some small way.
He removed his hat, brushing the dust of the road off of it before tucking it under one arm. Then he raised the heavy brass knocker and let it drop against the door twice. Shifting restlessly, he waited for the butler to answer.
“My lord,” the butler said with a smile. “The master and the lady are in the parlor. I’ll take you to them.”
“Thank you.” Ashton followed him, amused that after so many years of friendship, the League never stood upon ceremony. In most households he would have had to wait upon the steps while the butler ascertained whether anyone wished to receive him.
The butler stopped in front of a closed door and opened it, slipping inside. Ashton listened to him announce Ashton’s arrival.
“Show him in,” Cedric said from the other side.
The butler reappeared and allowed Ashton to enter the parlor. He ground to a halt at the sight of four other people he had not expected to see there. Godric, Emily, Lucien and Horatia were all present.